that's mrs. mediocrity to you

icarus played the molten fool
at mother nature’s ball

and we watched with fascination
as he tumbled to the ground

holding our breath until the sun
returned the gold of favor

and i crawl through this dirt
like an old brown beetle

scarab girl
warmth seeker
latent love hunter

pulling weeds and pressing
white through old lace curtains

looking for a way to singe my
skin and dress my bones

as seed and root are married
in eternity’s hollow middle

i no longer feel the need
to ask permission

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night - join us!

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life

.

Waiting until the right moment to open, the right day to bloom, the right time to stand tall.

Then again, we don’t always get to choose, do we?

Sometimes, it all happens when we least expect it, the sun comes out, temperatures rise, flowers burst into blossom, petals age and wither.

And then the cycle begins again.

Tulips, like most other bulbs, can be forced. Give them a rest, a false winter, time and cold and then warmth and light, and they will believe their time has come.

This isn’t a bad thing, this is why I can have tulips in a vase on my kitchen table all winter long.

But tulips in the garden have to fight for their own survival, time it all just right, and hope that Mother Nature gives them a break.

They have to have the patience and the perseverance and the luck to make it through.

But then, when it happens, look how gorgeous.

some i’ve known for years and others
i’ve yet to be introduced to

i’m walking down this road
that always leads me home

remembering faces and places
and voices long forgotten

whispers on wind telling tales
no one ever stops to hear

the white waving flag of
existential discourse

extend your hand
take my place
lend an ear
a shoulder
an old pair of shoes

this is the forest we all live in
trees and concrete and wisps

of tired translucent souls singing
songs less music than ballad

into the surrender of sky and grey
and blue smoke metaphysical ribbons

all these lost stories folding deep
into rivers and seas and oceans

returning later, much later
to rain down upon us

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night - join us!

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the glorious

scent of life

is all around

you

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We’ve had plenty of birds come down our chimney over the years, sparrows and starlings, mourning doves and mockingbirds, and once, a squirrel.

Rescuing the squirrel was a challenge, but with the help of my dad and a craftily formed cardboard and plastic tunnel, he eventually made his way outside. For the birds, I’ve developed a system that almost always goes off without a hitch, closing all the doors to all the rooms, (with the cats behind one of them) and opening the front door which is about 15 feet away from the fireplace. Then, I open the fireplace and wait. Almost always, after a few moments, the bird will fly directly out the open door.

When I woke up this morning, all three cats were sitting in front of the fireplace looking in, so I knew something was up. A few minutes later I heard the tell-tale scratching and saw a bird hopping around inside, but I thought it was a sparrow. It wasn’t until he flew out (in the wrong direction) and landed in the kitchen that I saw what kind of bird it was.

It’s not every day that you have a bluebird in your kitchen, and so, since my camera was handy and he seemed okay, I took a moment to snap his picture. I felt a little guilty, but who could resist?

What followed was a comical dance of him flying from window to window, (never quite figuring out which one was open), with me trying to scoot him towards the right one, both of us flapping and squawking, until finally I was able to trap him in a glass hurricane and lift him to the right spot.

And away he went.

He flew over and landed near the nest box and sang for mama bluebird, who eventually showed up. I’m fairly certain that their eggs are already damaged, the nest has definitely been tampered with, so I don’t think we will have babies this year. And this makes me sad.

But, I had a bluebird in my kitchen, and that made me smile.

Ordinary magic of the very best kind.

You gotta love life.

i need to eat and you’re not hungry
we are mind mirror
life miners

asking hope to keep promises never made

i feed you prawns for breakfast
and there is never enough

you are sage and i am curry

you are silence and i am angry

you have too much and i
get lost a lot

of course I don’t blame you
for accepting what was offered

i am
quiet
standing
balanced

blown but not destroyed
by the way of things

you need to eat and

i am hungry

plate, fork
salt, knife

round table

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night - join us!

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this will be a day

spent outside

because

there is this sky,

these buds,

that green

and

because

i can

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For as long as I have lived in my house, some 26 years now, this has been my view. Some years it is corn, others wheat, but always this old, broken down shed with its very own sentinel of tree. I have watched thousands of sunsets through this silhouette.

Until yesterday.

I was away all morning, and when I returned, both tree and shed were gone. I’m guessing that the farmer who owns the field needs the space to boost his crop, last year we had a terrible drought, and I know it was rough for him. I can’t blame him for doing what needs to be done.

But there was always something about that shed that spoke of days gone by, and that one lone tree in a field full of corn was always the first thing I could see coming up the hill, guiding me home.

Once again, and without warning, my view of the world has changed. And while I know that change is the only thing we can really count on, I will miss the comfort of this familiar sight.

I’m getting the feeling that 2013 is going to be filled with surprises. So I’m going to buckle my seatbelt and settle in for the ride, and see where it takes me.

Because you can’t fight change and the world keeps turning and the sinking sun will still be beautiful.

And I have lots of photos to remind me of the way things used to be.

Every so often, I will walk to end of the driveway with one in my hand and hold it up for just a moment, remembering.

And then I’ll go back inside and catch up to life, before it goes zooming by.

dream spelunker
heart miner
blind digging mind vole

my cave is darker
than your black eye
deeper than your promise

and i turn from your
ancillary embrace
always faster

than the glint of love
you fake with your
mirror shard necklace

shark tooth impostor
as talisman of never
with your riptide amulet

hope is a survivor
and you are false idol
idle empty orb

and once again
you’ve forgotten
i have wings

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

Also linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night